


Shut Up and Drive (Me Crazy)

by zinteyro



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Blindfolds, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinteyro/pseuds/zinteyro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A frustrated grounder, a seeker bent on testing his partner's patience and a night well spent. Pure PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shut Up and Drive (Me Crazy)

”Starscream,” Knockout whines, low and needy. ”Please.”

  
His optics are covered in the thick fabric that has been wrapped around his helm, but really, the cloth is there mostly for show. The sensors responsible for the medic's sight have been completely disabled by way of a few lines of overriding code, freeing microprocessors for other senses to use. Knockout is really proud of how little time his partner needed to hack through his firewall and install the medical-originated program – he remembers when it took several breems from plugging in to his optics flickering shut.

 

His request changes nothing about the situation. The seeker merely hums and returns to his ministrations, slowly licking along the length of the medic's spike, occasionally letting it's tip slip between his lipplates for a few gentle sucks. His talons wander around the grounder's hips and thighs, agonizingly light in their petting. And frustratingly enough, Starscream gives none of his attention to Knockout's wet, lubricant-leaking valve.

The seeker's EM field is drawn in, expertly controlled and confined. Only the brief moments when the medic's own field, widely blown, brushes against the other mech's let him know the aerial's control has slipped for a nanoklik. Those moments are few and far between, and not nearly enough when the data his sensors manage to gather from Starscream's field is incloncusive.

 

The medic's servos are bound by nothing but his partner's request, and he struggles to keep them still on the berth by his sides. Primus damn it, he can't take this anymore, he wants to feel! It doesn't help much that in the absence of sight all his other senses are heightened to almost-painful awareness when there is a shortage of stimuli. True, every twist of a glossa his spike gets causes wild flares of arousal in his EM field and each ex-vent ghosting on his sensitive pelvic area makes him moan unabashedly loudly. But it isn't enough.

So he begs once again.

”Please, please, Starscream, I can't – I can't take this anymore – _do something_ – ”

His reward is another lick, harder than any previous one had been, a low, rich chuckle and a caressingly soft whisper: ”My, my, my, aren't we _eager_ tonight.”  
Overload hits Knockout, completely unexpected.

 

It's not the words themselves that push him over the edge, it's the slight hitch in the voice that whispers them. It's the low thrum the seeker's engine gives, the unmistaken sign that his partner's enjoying this, that Starscream is just as revved up as Knockout himself, just as impatient to move things along.

If the medic's optics were functioning he would have seen the surprised look on the seeker's faceplates and the drops of his own transfluid trickling down his partner's cheek. It's a good thing they're not, though, or he just might've overloaded again when Starscream's optics flicker shut and he takes a shuddering intake.

And then, impossibly, to the grounder's violently peaking frustration, his partner returns to doing the exact same thing he has been practising for the previous breems. If the licking and the petting were agonizing before, now they're even more so, what with the medic's post-overload sensory sensitiveness and all. He's caught between harsh ex-vents and wordless pleas for more, kneejoints resting on the seeker's shoulders, his pedes occasionally brushing against the other mech's fluttering wings.

It's amazing, really, how something can be both too much and not enough at the same time.

 

Little does Knockout know (well, he'd had his suspicions if he were in any position to _think_ , slag it) that his partner's in an only slightly better state that he is. Starscream is constantly having to cancel the requests popping up on his HUD to keep his interface panel closed. The wild fluctuations of Knockout's EM field attacking the seeker's sensors with bursts of _frustration-want-need_ and _affection-love-adoration_ are not exactly helping him in his efforts.

His legs keep trembling in a way that is as telling as the flickers of his wings, whirring of his fans and the high-pitched whine of his engine. Only through exerting every last bit of self-control does the aerial manage to keep silent, not letting out any of the moans or keens prompted by the beautiful sight before his optics.

It's fine, he can wait. Soon they both can get what they want.

At least that's what Starscream keeps telling himself. There's an ever-increasing part of his processor, however, that keeps thinking that _soon_ couldn't come soon enough.

 

Knockout's engine revs loudly and his whole frame trembles with need when the seeker's digits stroke lightly along the rim of his valve, caressing the bright-red biolights and gently circling his anterior node. The medic lets his helm loll back and the words come pouring out from his vocaliser, laced with static and interrupted by hitching intakes.

”S-starscream, Starcsream, Starscream,” he pants, unsure of what to say to get the winged fragger to _do something more, Unicron curse him to the Pits_! ”I- ah- I know you want to, too, please, Starscream, please –”

”Please what?” the other mech's voice is too level, too controlled, its pitch resonating in all the right places on the medic's frame.

Knockout, impossibly, manages a breathy laugh and continues: ”Come on, love, frag me already,” here his voicebox shorts out for a klik, courtesy of a brush of digits against his valve's outer node, but the medic continues, valiantly: ”I'm yours, _I'm yours_ , please, take me, I want you, I _need_ you –”

 

This time he gets his reward, his _real_ reward. It comes in the form of a choked-back moan of his designation, two firm licks on his spike and the audible _snk_ of a retracting interface panel.

Knockout purrs and his engine echoes the sound from his vocaliser. _Finally_!

 

Starscream lets out a shuddering ex-vent, and keeps still in his place between the red mech's legs.

”How would y-”

He doesn't get to finish his question, because Knockout interrupts him with a loud whine: ”Starscreaaaam!” The exasperation is plain to the seeker's audials. But the aerial waits, patiently, all the while keeping up the light strokes, this time on the other mech's thighs.

”Well?” the seeker breathes out, after a few wordless kliks.

Knockout ex-vents and gives in. ”Anyway y-, anyway you want it, just _get on with it_!”

 

The following kliks consist of a blurr of action. First the seeker scrambles up from where he had been perched on the berth, grabs Knockout's helm with both servos and brings their lipplates together in a searing kiss. The red mech has barely any time to react or to even start processing the happenings when Starscream is flipping them, managing the feat despite the medic's considerable weight and expertly avoiding getting his wings squashed uncomfortably against the berth.

Knockout's processor is overwhelmed by the data his flaring sensory network, sensitized by sight-deprivation and previous featherlight touches, feeds him now that he lies practically on top of his seeker, chassis against chassis. His legs are splayed on either side of Starscream's narrow hips and his servos remain still, palms flat against the berth's surface, supporting some of his weight.

 

They finally settle, Starscream's wings pressed flat against the surface, flared wide, their fluttering reduced to mere twitching by the increased amount friction. The red mech is a pleasant weight on his canopy, one that the silver one is more than eager to explore with his servos. He runs his talons along the grounder's sides, teasing tranformation seams and paying extra attention where he knows the other's most sensitive.

The seeker gives his hips an experimental roll, lets his pressurized spike slide against Knockout's. The medic's response is a hiss through gritted dentae, a wiggle of his own hips (and this time it's Starscream who hisses) and his digits curling into the berth, itching to touch the frame underneath him.

The aerial notices this. ”Go ahead,” he murmurs, briefly pondering whether his voice should hold a more commanding tone but deciding against it, ”You- you can touch.”

 

Knockout obliges, ecstatic about this newfound freedom. If he's not allowed to see, then Primus damn it, he will at least feel; map the seeker's frame underneath him with his servos and at long last begin to reciprocate the attention he's been lavished with. He shifts his weight more to his legs, sitting up a fraction and grinding his hips ever so slightly against the seeker's, and starts to stroke the silver frame. Tentative and fumbling because his lack of sight, his ministrations are nonetheless appreciated if the quiet little moans are anything to go by.

They stay like that for a little while, stroking and petting, occasionally rocking and grinding against each other. Compared to the earlier setting, this is processor-blowingly good, more than enough to bring them both to the brink and shove them over, but Knockout's nothing if not greedy.

He's also not shy, not when his partner's self-control is finally crumbling, and he is just as close to getting what he wants as he is to asking for it.

”Hey, darling, a little help here?” Knockout smirks and imagines Starscream rolling his optics at him. (In reality, the seeker merely raises one optic ridge. And also rolls his hips because the medic sounds way too composed for his own good.) ”If it's alright with you, I- ahhhh _frag you_ – I'd really like to – _stop doing that_! – ride your spike, so –”

 

Starscream doesn't need to hear it twice before he is sitting up, his movement forcing Knockout too into a straighter position. He runs his servos down the grounder's sides to his pelvic plating, gives the medic's spike a few teasing strokes with one and quickly slips two digits (minding his talons) of another servo in and out the red mech's valve, finding it, unsurprisingly, well-lubricated. The seeker then grabs a firm hold of Knockout's hips, lining his own spike with the medic's valve, the tip of it almost pushed in.

He leans forward a bit, craning his neck, and nuzzles his helm against the red mech's. Knockout's intakes are shallow and rapid, fans whirling desperately, field washed over with want and need. It's only by some miracle that the seeker's voice doesn't waver any more than a fraction when he tugs off the fabric around his partner's optics and whispers against the medic's audial:  
”Whenever you feel like it, Knockout.”

 

Oh, he doesn't need to be told twice!

Knockout wastes no time in getting that spike inside him. It slides into him effortlessly enough, most calipers inside his valve giving way easily, only some giving meager protests at the invasion. He rolls his hips slightly, trying to find the angle where the ribbed spike will brush against as many inner nodes as possible. Satisfied, he rises to his knees, almost letting the spike slip out before falling down on it again as fast as he dares. With a static-laced moan he twists his hips ever so slightly and repeats the motion.

The coil inside his valve's walls becomes induced with delicious charge as the spike with its magnetic core thrusts in and out. This, coupled with the sweet friction and piezoelectric current stimulating his inner nodes, feels almost too much in Knockout's current state, but he manages to overcome the pressure for an immediate second overload.

He wants to draw it out as long as possible – well, at least a bit longer than only a few thrusts. The seeker certainly took his sweet time in teasing the red grounder, it'd be nothing short of embarassing to overload again so soon. And besides, Starscream has yet to come even once.

 

Starscream remains as still as he can, other servo placed on the berth for support, the other palming Knockout's thigh. His lack of movement is not only due to the fact that he likes going slow, but also because he is sure that if he so much as flinches, he's going to overload right then and there. And that wouldn't be fair for the red mech, who has been teased all too much for one evening for his partner to quit toying with him only to drop out of the game entirely.

Because drop out he would, Starscream was sure of that: the way the charge had been building between them, the overload waiting for the seeker just around the corner could very well knock him right into stasis.

Knock him out, so to speak.

 

Meanwhile Knockout finds a rhythm for grinding, rising and falling that makes not only his sensory net short out and flare back to life spasmodically, but also draws the most delightful moans, intakes and keens out of his partner. He fumbles with his servos, petting every expanse of the seeker he can reach, trying to get the aerial to _move_ because his ceiling node would like some attention too. No matter how he grinds, how hard and fast he impales himself on that sleek spike, he can't change the angle enough.

Knockout's servos find the sides of what he assumes to be Starscream's faceplates, and what are confirmed as such when the seeker leans in to give him a sloppy kiss. The medic meets him halfway – and there it is, _right there_ , the brush against his ceiling node he was hunting for, and he can't help but moan into the kiss and then break it. The red mech lets loose the string of words this new stimulation prompts, meaning each and every single one, not caring to filter them in any way, because even if this was some sort of a game before, it ceases being one right now.

” _Ahhh-hh_ yes, St- _hnnngh_! Starscream, please, do that again, move ag- _hhhhnnn_! again!”

Knockout misses the shivers running up and down Starscream's frame as the seeker obliges. Maybe he should've paid more attention.

”Righ- _ahhnn-nn_! right there, yes, that's good, that's very g- _hn_! good, that's wonderful, you're wonderful, how can you be this good for me, how, how, I'm so luck- _ah_!” His words are suddenly cut off to become at first only moans and a klik after mere static because his vocaliser shorts out at the sensation of warm transfluid filling his valve.

 

It takes a moment for Starscream to come back to his senses after the processor-blowing overload. Absentmindedly, he takes note of rebooting systems, before returning his attentions to the red mech shuddering in his lap. The seeker's valve is an absolute mess, wings fluttering happily and his spike is still pressurised, though not for long. But the medic is still trembling, still blinded, still venting shallowly and rapidly, still clinging to the sides of the seeker's faceplates. The grounder's engine revs and biolights lighten and darken erratically, all sure signs that Starscream's partner is still very much not finished.

Well, then.

The seeker leans forward again, wraps one of his arms around the other mech's waist and grinds his hips, trying to hit the same spot that had Knockout saying all those wonderful things. He doesn't miss the low moan the grounder lets out, but Starscream knows he can't keep this form of stimulation up for long. Conscious commands to keep a spike pressurised only work for a limited amount of time, and Starscream feels the telltale fatigue creeping around his processor, signaling that even with proper stimulation, a certain amount of rest will be needed before a second round can be seriously considered.

He nuzzles his helm against Knockout's and with his free servo coils his own interface cable from behind its panel on his chest. It's high time the medic regains his sight. The seeker finds the corresponding port on his partner's frame, and before he inserts the cable he jerks his hips again, to distract the red mech from what's happening on the software level.

As soon as the hardware connection is established Starscream dives through the already-hacked firewalls and finds the program he had installed in the beginning of their encounter. It takes only a single, simple command to remove it; that's fortunate, because most of the seeker's processing capacity is heavily focused on either the happenings of the physical world (in other words, distracting the medic) or on keeping sensory information from Knockout's network from bleeding into their hardline connection. He disconnects the cable and lets it coil behind its panel once again.

There, all done; now all that remains is for the red mech to run a reboot on his sensory network, and his optics should flicker back online like they never were blinded. And what a better way to prompt a reboot than an overabundance of sensory information?

Starscream slips his free hand between the writhing grounder and himself, and gives Knockout's spike a firm stroke. At the same time, he lets his own EM field, tightly in-drawn until now, flare wide and wash over the red mech.

He watches as the medic's optics online with a small visible crackle of electricity. Burning red meets burning red and Starscream smiles a little crookedly, a little tiredly and whispers:

”Hey, come on, Knockout, overload for me.”

 

Excuse me, how is any of this fair?, Knockout thinks as his sight returns to him, revealing a delightedly well-fragged looking Starscream, only to be lost again to another sensory network reboot as his partner utters those words. It isn't fair! Not when he finally has everything he wants: a pressurised spike rubbing against all the most sensitive nodes in his valve, the warm wash of a lover's EM field radiating _satisfaction-wonder-adoration_ and the sight of the said lover, looking at him with a lopsided grin in a post-overload haze, frame littered with small scrapes and dents.

It isn't fair, because there is no way for Knockout to enjoy the sensations for more than a nanoklik before his overload hits him.

He is vaguely aware that he's practically screaming his partner's name (oh the irony, he's never going to live this one down), that he's desperately clutching at Starscream with both his arms and legs, probably causing more dents and scrapes and paint transfers but not caring because the seeker clearly doesn't, just holds the medic tightly through it all.

Knockout comes back to his senses to find himself still in Starscream's lap, but no longer filled: it seems the seeker has cleaned and retracted his equipment back behind his interface panel. The silver mech is in the process of wiping Knockout's abdominal plating with a cloth, and glances up at the red medic prompted by the sound of a vocaliser cleared.

 

They smirk at each other for a while, before saying pretty much at the same time:

”Impatient fragger.”

”Utter, torturous glitch.”

Then they both burst into laughter, try to exchange a kiss that fails miserably (because Knockout hiccups at the exact wrong moment and Starscream's aim is way off with his optics offlined) and stumble off the berth. Still cackling, they make their way to the washracks, and on the second try, they manage to kiss properly.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing about bots, first time writing porn, yay!  
> Not going to be the last one on either counts, I promise. :D


End file.
